


Time alone is without flaw

by redux (sian22)



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Brock learning to be patient, Bucky of course can dance, Doctors Who, Multi, Steve Cooks, TARDIS - Freeform, Threesome - M/M/M, adjusting to the modern age, mostly - Freeform, slipping time, supersoldier sandwich, vintage 40s
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 05:41:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6411049
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian22/pseuds/redux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Garand and Carbine were models of semi-automatic rifle that saw action in the Second World War.  Red Seal brands were more prevalent in pre-War era, as were Chesterfield cigarettes.  Bulleye bars were a popular candy.  </p><p>TARDIS is copyright the British Broadcasting Corporation</p></blockquote>





	Time alone is without flaw

Brock refers to it, in his head, where he has the luxury (so Anthony f-ing Stark won’t overhear) as TARDIS Time.  

The analogy kind of works: slipping through dimensions, short-range guidance highly unpredictable, taking his guys to where they _need_ to be.   It works, but this model (Type 40 Mark 2) goes mostly backward and  shows a marked preference to stop in 1942.

Brock does not like to call them Fossils.  Or Grandpas.  Or any of Stark’s shit.  It ain’t fair: ain’t dignified.  This happened _to_ them, not because of them. But his Time Lords, well, they are his and if the good Doctors misunderstand the reference (think he’s back in grade 5 playing with a stethoscope) all well and good for him.   Steve, to his mind, is the ever boyish, faintly vulnerable Peter Davison.    James is the sexy stalwart David Tennant; also owner of a coiled inner fury waiting to be unleashed.  

When the TARDIS is in the here and now he can stand, smirk on his face, watching his guys staring in slack-jawed wonder at some new thing.  Sometimes its big and bright and shiny like the Neon in Times Square.  Sometimes it small and intricate as the whole Britannica on a chip.   Happens a bit less with James-he has more memoires of the intervening years-but still.  (HYDRA didn’t let him sightsee much)  

The sheer variety of Dean and Deluca’s produce has Steve wandering slowly up and down the aisles; gazing longingly with naked lust.    The Space shuttle at the Smithsonian has both of them lost for _hours_.  

When the TARDIS goes _back_ Brock goes with it: has learned it is simpler and less painful than trying to block the door.  He prefers the Mets thank you very much but LA _is_ shit so trash-talking the Enemy (Dodgers: turncoats every last one growls Steve)- is all fine with him.   He eats the crazy clean-out-the-fridge suppers Mr. _don’t-let-this-go-to-waste_ insists are good mostly uncomplaining.  Bumps the big guy’s hip away from the stove when the limp, semi-liquid vegetables start to slide into the stir-fry because jesus they do have two salaries and those bits aren’t even fit for soup.   Rents a storage locker for all the pieces (offcuts of 2x4; jars of nails, broken water pipe) both of them can’t bear to throw away like a pair of freakish metabolic magpies… Swears to god if he finds some tat from a HYDRA base he recognizes he is going to get a torch.  

The music is not so bad. He has learned to like Bing’s mellow tones and Jimmy Dorsey’s sax, loves Louie but christ Shaw’s clarinet can drive a man out of his mind.  He gets them back with YES.  (Steve secretly appreciates that a single song can span an entire make-out session.) Swing dancing he draws the line at ( _Its gay James, just gay_ ) but secretly admires Barnes cuz the bastard’s hips actually _move_.

It is _work_ being the filling in a forties vintage sandwich ( _pastrami on rye, hold the mustard)_ : filling out the hollows between two battered super soldier hearts.  They need it; need _him_. 70 years is a long time to be weathering, to make cracks and hidden pits that scratch, catch them unawares no matter how carefully they reconnoiter.  When the collisions come (of course they do) it hurts too much no matter how much they need the other guy.   A little grease between the wheels is simply smart.  Brock is where each of them can go when their skin starts to feel too tight, when the words will not come and he is fine with that.  

He tries very hard not to let his blood run green with jealousy when they get on the TARDIS and leave him (an unlikely Sarah Jane) behind.  Those times, in total sync, they forget, just a little, that he is there and doesn’t know sweet fuck all about Red Seal and Chesterfields or Bullseye Bars; doesn’t remember the feel of a Garand or a Carbine and how sometimes it couldn’t f-ing stop a duck.

“Percussive maintenance” takes on a whole new meaning when they stumble back and try to make it up to him.  

It’s a smart dam ship and always brings them back.  

**Author's Note:**

> Garand and Carbine were models of semi-automatic rifle that saw action in the Second World War. Red Seal brands were more prevalent in pre-War era, as were Chesterfield cigarettes. Bulleye bars were a popular candy. 
> 
> TARDIS is copyright the British Broadcasting Corporation


End file.
